The Emerald Terror
by Suzume Jun
Summary: It wasn't supposed to end like this. The light was supposed to win and everyone should have continued on living peacefully. To bad the muggles don't seem to believe in happily ever after... nor coexistence it seems. "Goodbye Magic". Time travel fic. Tom/Harry
1. War On Magic

**The Emerald Terror**

**Summery:It wasn't supposed to end like this. The light was supposed to win and everyone should have continued on living peacefully. To bad the ****muggles**** don't seem to believe in happily ever after... nor coexistence it seems. "Goodbye Magic". Time travel ****fic****.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

**Prologue: War on Magic**

When I was younger I once stood before the Mirror of Erised and saw my parents. But that was so long ago that it seems as if that boy were someone else if he ever existed at all. I wonder, hiding up here among the trees as I wait for the right opportunity to strike, what I would see if I stood before it now.

I doubt it would be something as innocent as a pair of parental figures.

A shout followed by gunshots and I don't turn to see who has joined the count. Greens should stay safely underground, coddled by stories of before and the empty reassurances that everything would be fine.

But instead they were up here. Making the mistakes that got not only them but others killed as well. Closing my eyes I take a deep breath and jump. The world fading and blurring into colors, sound stopping all together, and nerves going numb.

A few statistics, you ask? Sure, I'll give them to you. You probably won't like them though.

World War Two cost the United kingdom four hundred fifty thousand seven hundred people, 3% of these were magically capable. That would be thirteen thousand five hundred twenty-one people without adding the reign of Gellert Grindewald who took out another 7 hundred. Becoming more recent, and our numbers smaller, we move on to the first reign of Voldemort. In the first half of the "Blood wars" the United kingdom lost 12% of it's population, a further 10% escaping to the Continent never to return, leaving a grand total of three thousand seven hundred eighty-six magically capable people behind. It may not seem as impressive as the previous numbers but remember that those are simply to put the dwindling size of our society into perspective. The second half of the Blood Wars further decreased our numbers another 40%. Leaving us with a magical population of two thousand two hundred seventy-one.

As of yesterday's count there are only fifty-three magically capable people in the UK.

Click, move, aim, pull trigger, click, aim, pull trigger, dodge. The cycle continues on, never stopping. Screams from the mundanes and greens alike fall upon deaf ears as my body moves on its own. There is no just Harry, no Hadrian James Potter, no Boy-Who-Lived, no Savior of the wizarding world. Not here. Not now.

All that is here is me.

The Emerald Terror

Click, dodge, aim, pull the trigger, reload, Dodge, click, aim, pull the trigger.

Stop.

Standing amid the piles of corpses and pools of blood I take count.

Yesterday, there were fifty-three magically capable people in the UK. As of two seconds ago, we number forty-eight.

If no one else has been killed while we were above ground.

**- Line -**

Hermione is waiting for me when I get back. One of the only ones left to do so. Ron had once complained about her knowing everything.

Now I wish she had known more. That we _all _had known more. But who would have expected the mundanes to suddenly rediscover magic? We were only a year out of the second Blood War and in no condition for history to suddenly decide that the Witch Hunts needed to start repeating itself.

And all over one four year old mundane-born's accidental magic protecting her during the armed robbery of her parents' bank.

"So the Emerald Terror has returned?" She says, her tired voice trying to lighten the mood of death in the air around us. The woman in front of me now is no longer the woman who stood by my side at seventeen years old, nor is she even the one that nearly died there at eighteen. Brown hair finally just starting to brush against her shoulders after having been chopped off the year previous to escape the hold of a death eater now limp and filthy as it swings down her back in the braid most girls are now keeping their hair in. Eyes once full of life and excited but wary hope for a better future now completely disillusioned and cold. Her fingers shake, her skin is pale, and there is a trace of blood on her lips that show she has been coughing up blood again. Her 5'5" figure has a permanent slowch due to both leaning over research and defeat. Her clothes, once perfectly kept even if they weren't high end, are dirty and threadbare. A pair of stained jeans and maroon sweater with a white 'R' on it that had once, years ago, belonged to Ron. She wasn't the only one who had changed though. We all had.

There was simply something about seeing a three year old lynched by their own parents that changed a person you know?

"Five more dead Hermy." She had once hated that nickname, going so far as to hex one of us when we dared to call her it. Now she doesn't even bat an eyelash at it. Simply takes the offered information with a nod. Her brown eyes are dim and hopeless but determined about something and I get an uneasy feeling it has to do with me.

"What's going on Mione?" I ask, trying to see around her into the room she is concealing with a combination of both the door and her body. (Why in the world do I have to be the smallest! I swear at 23 years old I should be taller then 5'3" and look older then a fifteen year old. But no, my body had to freeze upon mastering death!)

"The mundane killing off the magically capable." She retorts, the response having become the universal term of 'nothing' around here about five years ago thanks to Seamus. There is a shout further down the tunnel and I can see the roof is starting to give. Trying to apperate out seems to be impossible, the mundanes have put up what we have come to call an 'anti-magic ward".

We had been found.

Hermione pulls me into the room and I see strange designs, potions ingredients, and notes all over the place. Light from the sky above starts to show through as she throws something around my neck and hugs me.

"Forgive me."

The roof starts to cave in, her wand is pointed in my face, and a green light hits me.

The last words I hear are not her apologies but some mundane's sneers.

"Good riddance _Magic_."


	2. Strange Magic

**The Emerald Terror**

**Summery:It wasn't supposed to end like this. The light was supposed to win and everyone should have continued on living peacefully. To bad the muggles don't seem to believe in happily ever after... nor coexistence it seems. "Goodbye Magic". Time travel fic.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

**Chapter One: Strange Magic **

_"Forgive me."_

_The roof starts to cave in, her wand is pointed in my face, and a green light hits me._

_The last words I hear are not her apologies but some mundane's sneers._

_"Good riddance _Magic_."_

**- POV Albus Dumbledore -**

The boy, for surly he couldn't be older then fourteen or fifteen at the most, twitches in his sleep yet again but doesn't wake up. Not that it is surprising as he has been out since appearing suddenly out of no where in the Great Hall three days ago. The staff, not to mention the ministry, was on edge waiting for him to wake up. At first we had contacted the Potters about him because he carried so many of their family's traits, and the bag he had on him held what could only be their invisibility cloak among other things. Strange things, things that brought up concern. It held the Potter Invisibility cloak, my wand, a spare change of those weird clothes, a canteen of what might of been water, some healing potions, seven unused clips of what seemed to be ammunition (With no gun), a rock with the engraving of the deathly hollows on it, a muggle first aid kit, a small blanket, and three worn muggle photos.

The first was of a man who was undoubtedly a Potter (a third reason to contact them) and a woman at a skating rink in winter. They were smiling at each other and leaning together as if they were about to kiss. The second was of four children, two of which holding a remarkable resemblance to the Weasley clan, outside in summer. A boy who looked like a short haired version of the one currently sleeping in front of me was setting a table with the Weasley looking girl. Meanwhile a bushy haired girl holding a book seemed to be lecturing them on where to put the tableware as a boy who seemed to be the first girl's brother laid sprawled out in one of the chairs complaining. Finally the third, and last, photo seemed to actually be of a mural. Faces with names printed underneath them clustered around the words "Never Forgotten" with the date October 31st written underneath the words and no year. It gives off a memorial feel to it and I recognize the faces of the two Weasley like children among the others. The girl was apparently "Ginevra 'Ginny' Molly Weasley - 17" and the boy "Ronald 'Ron' Billius Weasley - 18". There were others of course, and I knew quite a few of the family names, yet none of them had ever gone to Hogwarts. I had even gone so far as to contact families and go over the old enrollment records.

Nothing.

There was no "Luna 'Loony' Pandora Lovegood - 17", no "Draconis 'Draco' Lucius Malfoy - 18", and no "Dennis Bernard Creevey - 16". Neither "Padama Prama Patil - 18" nor "Neville Frank Longbottom - 18" exist. "Proffesor Minerva "Minnie" Matilda McGonnagal - 63", "Proffesor Filius Jarleth Flitwick - 62", and "Proffesor Pomona Phyllida Sprout - 57" weren't on any of the licence registries he could access. "Astoria Ceres Greengrass - 16", "Polaris Fabian Nott - 13", and "Holly Roslien Thorn - 15" were about as real as the Nargles that sixth year Ravenclaw kept going on about. And those were only a few of the names in the photo.

There were easily one hundred thirty-seven people depicted in there if not more.

However the Potters, as well as everyone else, had absolutely no idea who the child was and Charlus Hadrian Potter was currently in possession of the family heirloom (and my wand was currently resting in it's holster strapped to my arm).

So the question was: Who was this boy?

The child had appeared with a flash of green light in the middle of the Welcome Feast. His clothes were worn, ripped, and stained with blood and dirt. Jeans in a strange cut that hugged his legs far more then appropriate for public (or privet) wear with the ends of the pant legs tucked into a pair of old heavy duty boots that went all the way up to his mid-calf. The faded shirt (It appeared to have been green at one point) in the muggle "t-shirt" style and one of those American bomber jackets that are so popular across the pond that he had on looked as if they had been through the front lines of the muggle war and then buried underground. Finally his hands were covered in a pair of leather gloves that was missing the top half of each finger, a pair of glasses that had been mended with both spell work and tape lay a little ways away from him in front of his face, and two holsters were strapped to him. A smaller one that was for a wand (with wand present) was strapped to his right leg, and a larger empty holster was strapped to his left leg (More then likely for the gun that the spare clips were for). His black hair, so filthy and tangled that it seemed to have not been washed or combed in months, went to his waist and was tied up in a high ponytail. We had thought him dead with the amount of dirt and blood that clung to him.

Once the students had calmed down Healer Clearwater, her apprentice Ms. Pomfrey, and myself managed to get him to the hospital wing. It was both disturbing and a relief that most of the blood either wasn't his or was from old, already healed, injuries. There was no question that at least some of it could have been his. The number of scars on the boy was frightening once the two woman had peeled him out of his clothes and cleaned him off. It was as if not a single part of his body wasn't touched by the spiderweb of ugly lines. Even his face had not been spared. On his forehead was a lightning bolt and there was a thick barbed line that dragged down his face starting at his eyebrow, over his left eyelid, curved with his cheek bone, and stopped halfway through his cheek.

Then there were the tattoos.

An emerald snake with red eyes winded down his left arm. The tip of it's tail starting at his elbow and it's head resting on the back of his hand. On the back his right shoulder were the black silhouettes of a wolf, dog, and stag playing together in the light of a full moon. Hogwarts was inked beautifully and accurately over the outside of his right thigh, an owl used the head of a wolf cub as it's perch on the back of his neck, and a bat with a lilly was on his left hip. Inside his left ankle was a black knight chess piece sitting on a rather thick looking aging book with a golden snitch flying around it. Finally, over his heart were once again the words Never Forget and the year less date of October 31st.

"Mione!" The boy screams, shooting up in the bed. His right eye opens wide revealing an emerald green orb that reminds me of the killing curse but his left remains firmly shut.

**Hey Everyone! I hope you liked this so far. It has been brought to my attention that calling muggles mundanes in the wizard vs. muggles war fics is getting a bit too common. Therefore I would like to ask all of you for ideas on what to call them instead of mundanes. Once I have a few suggestions I'll either choose one myself or have you all vote on what you believe is the best one. Also, should I change the summary? Any comments, questions, and suggestions concerning other parts of the story are welcome as well of course. Until next time…**

…**Bye!**


	3. Questioning Magic

**The Emerald Terror**

**Summery:It wasn't supposed to end like this. The light was supposed to win and everyone should have continued on living peacefully. To bad the muggles don't seem to believe in happily ever after... nor coexistence it seems. "Goodbye Magic". Time travel fic.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

**Chapter Two: Questioning Magic**

_"Mione!" The boy screams, shooting up in the bed. His right eye opens wide revealing an emerald green orb that reminds me of the killing curse but his left remains firmly shut. _

It takes me a while to calm down but before I have even accomplished that I am scanning the room to assess the situation I am in. My magic compensating for the blind spot caused by the loss my left eye five years ago.

We had lost Seamus that day, Dean following only two days after him.

It takes me a bit to realize that I'm actually in Hogwarts' Hospital wing. Hermione had been talking about going back in time but I had thought it would be the two of us together.

_"Forgive me."_

My hands clench and I shut my eye against the pain of having just lost my last friend. I couldn't let her down. Couldn't let _any of them_ down.

A much younger looking Dumbledore is on my right and two witches, one old the other just past gaining her majority, are on my left. I had gone back further then planned. It was supposed to be a few days after the final battle.

"Whats the year?" I ask, my voice strange as my body gets used to the cleaner environment. The mundanes had taken a liking to bombing us with those nuclear weapons of their's a while back.

"I believe it is us who should be asking the questions my boy." Dumbledore says and I want to attack him. I wounder what he would have done if he had survived the second Blood War? Offered the gun waving mundanes with their threats of nuclear warfare a lemon drop as he silently looked down on them as if they were harmless? Yes. That's something the old fool would do.

"September 8th, 1944" A young voice that sounds painfully like Madam Pomfrey says to my left and Dumbledore glances in her direction annoyed for a brief second.

1944. I had definitely overshot my target date.

"Yes, well, could you please tell us who you are?" He asks in that tone that means it is not a request but an order. The first thing that comes to mind is Emerald Terror, but I can't use that. I might be able to get by with Potter, even if it tasted weird in my mouth now after years of being unused, but my first name had to go. What was my first name anyway? Harold, or Harley. or something like that... Harry. That's it. Harry, short for Hadrian.'

"Well my boy? It's just your name, surely that isn't to hard for you?" Dumbledore pushes condescendingly.

Hermione was the female version of Hermes. They've probably gone through my stuff so I can't use Ron or Neville in any way. Lillane was apparently the male version of Lilly. Most of the older names I can't use because they're in use or will be soon...

"It's ok if you don't remember dear. There have been potions to clear amnesia around for the last five years or so." A voice I don't recognize attempts to console me but behind his mask Dumbledore looks pissed.

"It's Heath Hermes Potter." I say, managing to put no doubt into my voice. The woman, a tall white haired nurse that looks about ready to retire, smiles and nods. Coming around the bed so that I could see both her and Dumbledore at the same time. Also, it kind of makes sense that Madam Pomfrey was a red head when she was younger. She had the scary, do as I tell you, vibe of a Scott down rather to well in the future. Not that it had stopped me from at least trying to escape her domain several times. I wish I hadn't after her death, every second I had spent in her presence suddenly becoming precious.

"Are you sure my boy?" Dumbledore asks, not seeming to like my answer, "The Potters have already claimed you aren't theirs." I blink, forcing myself to look confused (Of course they aren't going to. I don't exist in this time line yet), before answering him.

"What are you talking about? My parents have been dead for years." Now that threw him off.

"Where are you from?"

"Where am I?"

"You shouldn't answer other people's questions with a question my boy."

"I want to know where I am, surely that isn't to hard for you?" The fool looks about ready to murder me behind that mask of his. I hadn't been able to spot it in the past (or was it future?) but after having worked so close with hundreds of the same kind of masks you can see through them rather easily.

"Of course not my boy. You are at Hogwarts, you've obviously heard of it considering the image on your thigh." He says the last part with a tone of distaste. As if he was disgusted by the very idea of my tattoos. Doesn't matter to me, my decision to write my story on my body wasn't very accepted until after the Witch Hunts had started and a lot of the survivors (if you could call us that) got the memorial inked onto us somewhere. Mine is over my heart, Hermione went for down her right arm, George had mimicked the Dark mark in a failed attempt at humor, Seamus had gotten a permanent choker and Dean went for the bracelet type look. Of course, I still had a few more then they did and had been planning on more but after the Hunts had started such a thing became impossible. Mundane tattoo artists were far better then their (few in number) magically capable counterparts and had stopped inking all but a few of their own designs that held absolutely nothing magical about them.

"Actually, I have not. What's Hogwarts, and who are you?" Dumbledore looks at me in disbelief and Madam Pomfrey looks about ready to burst out laughing.

"I am Professor Albus Dumbledore, Transfiguration teacher, Deputy headmaster, and head of Gryffendor house. Surly you have heard of me? I've been leading the recent influx of reforms in the ministry." My look of 'go on' obviously wasn't what he was expecting my response to be. At the beginning we had reviewed old battle strategies and out of all of them I had found Dumbledore's approach to be one of the most disturbing. Who waits until the absolute last minute to save the day as they sacrifice their own people left and right without remorse?

Apparently Albus Dumbledore.

"Hogwarts is a school for the magically inclined." Madam Pomfrey says and I look at her expectantly which makes her blush, "Apprentice Healer Poppy Pomfrey. But you can call me Poppy, most do."

"Hello Magic." I say with a smile and a nod before realizing, by her strange look, that people of this time don't use most of the speech patterns that had been formed over the past (future?) six years.

**Hey everyone! Merry Christmas!**


	4. Hello Magic

**The Emerald Terror**

**Summery:It wasn't supposed to end like this. The light was supposed to win and everyone should have continued on living peacefully. To bad the muggles don't seem to believe in happily ever after... nor coexistence it seems. "Goodbye Magic". Time travel fic.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

**Chapter Three: Hello Magic**

_"Hello Magic." I say with a smile and a nod before realizing, by her strange look, that people of this time don't use most of the speech patterns that had been formed over the past (future?) six years. _

__"Well yes, I am so inclined." She says awkwardly and I mentally slap myself for my slip up.

"Where are you from ?" Dumbledore asks again, and I know just how to answer that. Originally I was supposed to claim to be from Bermuda's third island Atlantis if we were sent back to far. That way my story matched Hermione's and we didn't have to worry about the smaller slip ups and acting as if we didn't know each other. In truth no one knows what's in the Bermuda Triangle. It's said though that magically inclined people fled there during one of the first Witch Hunts and that they put up wards that made Hogwarts and Grangotts combined look like first year work in order to keep out everyone else no matter their inclination.

But Hermione wasn't here.

"No clue, my parents died in a smash up when I was a baby so my Aunt's family had to take me in. Ran soon as I was old enough and never looked back. Was caught a few years ago though and sent out on the lines." They looked at a loss for words. That had been my idea but Hermione had shot it down because it left to many variations of the story that could go wrong. My significant look at her when she came up with Atlantis had went ignored, as usual.

"But you can't be older then fifteen!" The woman exclaimed and mentally I cringe. I was twenty-three. _Twenty-three! _Not fifteen! That's an eight year difference lady! Of course, I don't actually _say_ any of that, and they more then likely wouldn't believe me anyway, so now I'll have to pretend to be a student. Joy! As if the first time through wasn't bad enough! At least I don't have to fully change my story (not as if I could now anyway). There's a prodding at my mental shields and I know that Dumbledore is trying to validate my story. I make my shields look as if they have easily folded and show him some pictures of the Dursley's earlier abuse tangled with some scenes of Hermione, Ron, and I "camping" and an image from the Witch Hunts every now and then. It will be better for my story if he believes he has been told the truth and my strong defiance so far appears to simply be a defence mechanism with no true power to back it up. As predicted Dumbledore backs off quickly, especially after I show him Ron's death. He never was one for pain, preferring to sit back and turn a blind eye as others did his dirty work for him.

"So? The war isn't going to fight itself Ma'am." I say as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. I should probably not feel as comfortable as I do about saying that but it's true. Having been through two wars now I can honestly say that they don't end (nor start) by themselves. That's what makes this story so much easier to follow then Hermione's lost island plan.

"Of course it's not my boy! But most people prefer to believe that the muggles wouldn't give a child a man's job." Dumbledore remarks, cutting off the healer. I can't help my mind's thought of 'What? Like you did?', I really can't. He goes to say something more but is interrupted by the entrance of a man older then Dumbledore had been back in my actual time, followed by a proud looking boy that could only be a seventeen year old Tom Riddle.

That's right. 1944, wasn't that was the year after he first opened the chamber of secrets? I think so.

"So our visitor has decided to wake up it seems?" He asks, sending a pointed look at Dumbledore who obviously had been asked to immediately tell him upon my return to consciousness.

"Yes Armando, may I introduce you to Heath Hermes Potter." Dumbledore says as if I couldn't have introduced myself.

"Potter? Are you by any chance related to Charlus Hadrian Potter?" Dumbledore goes to answer for me but I cut him off, much to the teen Riddle's suppressed amusement. Glad to be of service Voldemort.

"I wouldn't know sir. My parents died when I was a baby so my mundane relatives tried their hand at raising me." Riddle raises an eyebrow at that, I can tell that though my wording was completely lost on the rest of the room it wasn't on him. I then stand and turn to Riddle as I grab my wand off the nightstand, wanting to make my slip up with Mada- er, Poppy... seem normal to at least me.

"Hello magic, I'm called Heath." I say as I present my wand pointed towards me, ignoring the standard Hospital Wing pajama pants that I am currently wearing. In response the other would have presented their own wand likewise and given a short bow. Replying with the words "Well met Magic, I'm called" Then insert who they were. It wasn't always a name. For instance, I usually presented myself as Emerald Terror. Obviously though, That wasn't how Riddle responded. In the background I could hear Dumbledore whispering to the old man about me. Everyone in the room is staring but I'm used to that from being the savior of the wizarding world; Poppy looks ready to have a fit while the head nurse seems simply bewildered that I am _able_ to stand on my own yet. You learn how to keep going despite the amount of pain you're in after growing up with the Dursleys. Usually I can't even tell if I'm injured until Mione calls me out on it. Dumbledore is looking at my ink with disgust as the man next to him looks taken aback at the state of my body. Riddle though, doesn't seem fazed in the least. A raised eyebrow and a smirk was how I was received. Our eyes met and I could feel the old connection he had with the horcrux snap back to life even if he couldn't.

"Head boy Tom Marvello Riddle." He says without so much as a nod. I have to remind myself that he isn't actually dismissing custom as my actions aren't yet custom around here.

"So Mr. Potter, would you care to answer a few questions I have?" The old man asks and I smile at him, trying to portray an innocent child. From the confused way the man glances at Dumbledore I know I've succeeded. By the end of my time here I want to either completely discredit Dumbledore and disillusion people about Riddle or secure myself as harmlessly insane (I don't plan on having to break out of Saint Mungos).


	5. Answering Magic

**The Emerald Terror**

**Summery:It wasn't supposed to end like this. The light was supposed to win and everyone should have continued on living peacefully. To bad the muggles don't seem to believe in happily ever after... nor coexistence it seems. "Goodbye Magic". Time travel fic.**

_**italics after last chapter recap = Harry's thoughts/ actual answers**_

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

**Chapter Four: Answering Magic**

_"So Mr. Potter, would you care to answer a few questions I have?" The old man asks and I smile at him, trying to portray an innocent child. From the confused way the man glances at Dumbledore I know I've succeeded. By the end of my time here I want to either completely discredit Dumbledore and disillusion people about Riddle or secure myself as harmlessly insane (I don't plan on having to break out of Saint Mungos)._

"Heath please, Ask away, Mr...?" I reply, sitting down on the edge of my bed before a certain red head can come over and spell me back into it. Horrible experience that.

"Headmaster Dippet, Heath." He says, taking the seat by my bed. Dumbledore and the Healer conjure chairs for the others and I groan mentally. Why do I have to tell four people? It isn't anyone's business but my own and the Headmaster's. Riddle actually foregoes the chair and sits beside me on the bed, much to Dippet's amusement and Dumbledore's annoyance.

"How old are you Heath?"

_Twenty-three _"I don't really know Headmaster, she," I nod towards the Healer, "thinks I'm about fifteen."

"Her name is Healer Clearwater Heath. Why don't you know how old you are?"

_I do know. _"There isn't really a need for that kind of knowledge on the street Headmaster." I retort dryly before looking at Healer Clearwater. Now that it had been brought up I can see quite a bit of resemblance between her and the Ravenclaw Percy used to date. We nod hello to each other, my own accompanied by a 'Well met' that has her smiling sadly.

"How long were you on the street then?

_Depends on what you would consider 'on the street'. _"A few years I guess. Military didn't really care and my relatives didn't particularly want to have me back. Not enough to report me missing in any case."

"You mentioned the military. Why?"

_So that I can sell you this story. Bunch of sadistic bastards they are though. Don't care how old you are if your magically capable. _"A few years ago my friends and I were rounded up by the Yard and thrown out onto the front lines."

"Who are the people in this photo?" Dumbledore cuts in. Presenting my photo of the mural Dean had painted on a piece of Hogwarts' ruins. The Headmaster glares at Dumbledore but the man doesn't back down.

_Everyone who died when the mundanes suddenly attacked Hogsmead and started bombing the castle._ Merlin, how do I get out of this one? "They're dead." Hopefully the Headmaster will make him drop the subject. At least until I can think of a good excuse.

"That may-" "Albus" Thank you Headmaster. However, everyone now looks interested in the answer...

_Mind your own business. _"They sent us out with only the instructions to 'clear the way'. Those are the ones who didn't make it back." The Headmaster glares while Dumbledore looks annoyingly proud of himself. Healer Clearwater is crying, saddened by the implications of my words while Poppy sits there horrified and Tom watches me. I can't tell the full extent of his reaction though since he has sat himself directly in my blind spot.

"So I take it October 31st was the day this... assignment was given to you?" Dumbledore pushes and I close my good eye before clenching my hands into fists and staring down into my lap.

_No, it was the day the Witch Hunts officially began. Among other things... _"It was, among other things, the day we were ordered to stop looking for them."

"Amo-" "That's enough Albus. I'm the one asking the questions." Thank you Headmaster.

"Do you mind expanding on that Heath?" He continues and I smile at him, all of this smiling is making my cheeks hurt.

_Yes, I don't want to talk about any of this. _"It's my birthday Headmaster."

"You're birthday? I thought you didn't know how old you were."

"I don't. A lot of stuff happened on October 31st so my friends decided that it was my birthday so that I had something truly happy to say about it."

"Stuff like?"

"My parents died and I was left with my relatives. Stuff like that."

"When was your birthday really?"

_July 31st, 1980 _"I don't know Headmaster. My relatives didn't really celebrate it." I look over at Dumbledore. "Can I have my photos back please?" He doesn't look happy about it but I get them back all the same.

"Where are you living now Heath?"

_No where _"Well, I was back on the lines before I woke up here so..." I trail off, obviously uneasy.

"Would you like to stay here?" This brought Dumbledore's protests but they were ignored.

_Yes. _"Is that OK Headmaster? I don't want to trouble you."

"It'll be no trouble. We'll just need to have you take a placement test to see what year you're in and have you sorted,"

"Of course Headmaster."

"Also I think you should meet the Potters. They're great people you know. You're probably related to them somehow, I'll recommend a trip to Grangotts."

"On that note why do you have a copy of their family cloak?" Dumbledore demands, obviously not happy with how this was being handled. But, unlike Dumbledore it seems, I knew what Dippet was attempting to do in offering me sanctuary.

"Come Albus, there are similarities of course but there is more then one invisibility cloak in this world, even if they are rare. His looks to be a lot older then the one the Potters own. Headmaster Dippet replies as he stands, obviously ending the conversation. Dumbledore reluctantly follows him out the door leaving behind my backpack.

"Oh, Tom?"

"Yes Headmaster?"

"I would appreciate it if you caught Heath up to speed on Hogwarts and _England's_ wizarding world." So Dippet believed that I had been introduced to magic else where... perfect.

"Of course Headmaster."

They leave and Healer Clearwater makes Riddle sit in Dippet's chair so that I can lay down on the bed. She runs another scan over me and starts fussing.

Half an hour and three dozen potions later I remember why I disliked the hospital wing when I was younger. Riddle stays there reading a book from his bag throughout the whole thing but at least I can fully see him again. It must be the potions talking because the thought that he was actually rather attractive before seven horcruxes and at least one illegal dark ritual wont leave my mind. Eventually the women are satisfied and leave me alone with the order not to get out of bed.


	6. Loathed Magic

**The Emerald Terror**

**Summery:It wasn't supposed to end like this. The light was supposed to win and everyone should have continued on living peacefully. To bad the muggles don't seem to believe in happily ever after... nor coexistence it seems. "Goodbye Magic". Time travel fic.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

**Chapter Five: Loathed Magic**

_Half an hour and three dozen potions later I remember why I disliked the hospital wing when I was younger. Riddle stays there reading a book from his bag throughout the whole thing but at least I can fully see him again. It must be the potions talking because the thought that he was actually rather attractive before seven horcruxes and at least one illegal dark ritual won't leave my mind. Eventually the women are satisfied and leave me alone with the order not to get out of bed.__  
><em>**- POV Tom Riddle -**

A month has gone by since that strange boy had woken up and truthfully no one knows what to make of him.

With injuries like the ones he had he should still be in the Hospital Wing but he managed to escaped both Healer Clearwater and that annoying apprentice of her's after only _two_ days. How he had managed it no one knows. Another mystery is how he managed to actually keep his past a secret at Hogwarts. Anyone who has ever been here knows that the gossip vine literally has an ear on every wall, and yet Heath has managed to keep everything mear speculation about him. Even the teachers and the Ministry are clueless about anything he doesn't want them to know. The current favorite is that Potter's dad had a squib for a brother and Heath is this mysterious sibling's descendant. Being proven to be completely false sure, but it's better then the love child idea that came before it. And then there's the fact that the hat seems to have gone completely senile.

Heath Potter is no Slytherin.

Slytherins are powerful, cunning, ambitious, clever, traditional, and think only of themselves. They lead the wizarding world with the resourcefulness and determination to back them.

However, Heath Potter isn't a single one of those things. It's actually rather disappointing since when I first met him I had thought he would be interesting, and don't get me wrong he is, but a different kind of interesting. Abraxas was talking about doing a Samhain ritual this year in the common room and on the eighth I had wondered if it would actually be OK for a name to appear before me. Now I'm back to insisting that I don't need to have someone by my side to rule.

Heath Potter wasn't a Slytherin. He was beyond the comprehension of Hufflepuffs, not bookish enough for Ravenclaw, and didn't quite fit with the Gryffendors. He treated the house elves as if they were his friends, talked of magic as if it was it's own entity, and never actually looked at anyone. He refused to wear the robe that was part of the uniform, seemed physically unable to follow the hierarchy, visibly checked his food and drink for tampering before he consumed it, talked in riddles on the rare occasions he talked at all, wouldn't glamour any part of his body himself, nor would he let anyone else do it for him, and seemed to struggle in most of his classes. In short, he didn't belong here.

And Slytherin made sure he knew that.

I don't know where he sleeps now but after two nights he packed his things and walked out of the dormitories. Since then the only times he had been seen is at lessons and the occasional meal. Why should I care though? He hasn't lost the house any points he himself hasn't regained at a latter point, snitched on anyone to a teacher, or caused any actual trouble what so ever. So why does that knowing emerald eye seem to haunt me?

It wasn't like Dumbledore's. His gaze was judgmental and hypocritical. Everything about him screaming that he had decided everything I would become before I had even opened that first letter when I was eleven. It infuriated me as did everything else he did and allowed to happen. But Heath's gaze was cold and piercing. As if he saw through every one of my masks to the person beneath but rather then be surprised or disgusted he simply didn't care. Then I would turn to look at him and it would disappear as if I was imagining it, replaced by a happy go lucky idiot that didn't line up at all with the story he had feed us in the hospital wing that day. Healer Clearwater said he had probably repressed most of those memories but I can't help but believe differently.

It wasn't his expressions, mannerisms, or speech patterns. It wasn't any one interaction with the people around him, that day in the hospital wing, or the fact he seemed to prefer creatures to humans. It wasn't any one item from the long list that one of the Slytherin fourth year had decided to compile of things that were wrong with him.

It was his eye.

No matter how cheerful and unfocused it seemed there was always that one emotion there, burried under the illusion but clear as day to me. After all, I was no stranger to concealed hate. But Heath Potter didn't hate.

He loathed.

And not just a few. Not just Dumbledore's little pet Gryffendors or the harsher pureblood Slytherins that had attacked him for his blood. Not just the snootiest of the Ravenclaws or the more opinionated Hufflepuffs who hated him for simply being a snake. It wasn't even simply a whole house. No.

Heath Potter loathed every one of us _equally_.

He was great at hiding it. Actually, I hadn't figured it out until yesterday. We all knew that Heath went into the Forbidden Forrest at times. It was simply a fact that everyone knew but no one could prove. Well, Care of Magical Creatures had just ended and I was taking a short cut to Herbology when I had spotted him just on the edge traveling further in. Dumbledore would have had a field day, he seemed to have it out for Heath almost as badly as he did for me. Not that I can truly say mine is undeserved anymore after last year.

Following him in I came upon the most strange and breath taking sight I ever saw.

Heath was bare foot and shirtless, pant legs rolled up to his knees, as he knelt on the ground. His hair, which the professors had made him wear down to hide the tattoos he refused to cover with a glamour, was up revealing the owl and wolf cub on the back of his neck. Bangs naturally hid the scars on his face without being clipped out of the way for potions, and his small calloused hands stroked the mane of a Thestral who lay with it's head resting in his lap.

I noticed a few things in observing this scene. Some I wish I had't.

Like the fact that on his right wrist was a tattoo that looked disturbingly like a bar code. It wasn't as clean and clearly done as the others. It gave the impression that he fought as it was being branded (not inked) onto him and been restrained. Or the fact that there were scars on the soles of his feet as if someone had slit his tendons. Not only once either, but over and over again. Then there was the fact that Heath could clearly see the skeletal creature and had been around them enough that he not only wasn't repulsed by them but felt more comfortable out here around them then with the human witches and wizards inside the castle.

There was that eye again, seeming to pull me in and drown me in a bottomless sea of emerald. But It was far from piercing and cold or cheerful and unfocused. No. It was sad and full of that equal hate for everyone. Nothing I could think of backed up the feeling and yet it wouldn't go away.

The feeling that Heath Hermes Potter wasn't going to be here for much longer.

**Hey everyone! I hope you liked this last chapter of The Emerald Terror. Also, I think Riddle may have developed a fetish. But then maybe there are a lot of characters out there that go on for like half a chapter about eyes. Would you like me to put in some actual days that Harry/Heath is at Hogwarts or shall I move right onto what I have planned next? Comments, suggestions, and reviews welcome as always. Until next time...**

**...Bye!**


	7. Planned Magic

**The Emerald Terror**

**Summery:It wasn't supposed to end like this. The light was supposed to win and everyone should have continued on living peacefully. To bad the muggles don't seem to believe in happily ever after... nor coexistence it seems. "Goodbye Magic". Time travel fic.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

**Chapter Six: Planning Magic**

_There was that eye again, seeming to pull me in and drown me in a bottomless sea of emerald. But It was far from piercing and cold or cheerful and unfocused. No. It was sad and full of that equal hate for everyone. Nothing I could think of backed up the feeling and yet it wouldn't go away._

_The feeling that Heath Hermes Potter wasn't going to be here for much longer._

**- POV Heath Potter -**

_"What's going on over there mate?" Ron asks and Hermione turns from her work on the wall opposite us to lecture him when light flashes outside the corridor windows and the castle shakes._

_"Bloo-" Ron's swear is cut off by another, much closer, shake that throws me into him sending us to the floor. Hermione pales drastically as McGonnigal's voice is heard throughout the partially reconstructed but still in use school._

_"Hogsmead is under attack. First through sixth years please proceed to the dungeons and follow the directions of and the Ghosts once there. All seventh years and up either follow or meet out by the path to the village. Thank you." A third rocking produces a scream further down the corridor and I'm off Ron heading towards it only to stop dead._

_A huge chunk of the castle was gone, a hole and ruins where a nearly complete hallway once stood._

_"They're bombing us." Hermione gasps out. Not much was able to surprise us anymore but this... no one could say this was expected._

Heath sits up in bed and the lights immediately turn on as he huddles into himself. Tears he hadn't known he was still capable of stream down his face as he rocks back and forth not knowing what to do. It had been so long since he'd had to deal with this alone and he didn't think his regimine of dreamless sleep potions and staying up all night practicing how to get the spells wrong was going to last much longer. Which was why he had tried sleeping normally, an obvious failure. He wanted Hermione...no... he wanted RON. Ron may have, as Hermione put it, possessed the emotional range of a teaspoon but he knew how to calm the brunette down after a particularly bad nightmare.

The red head actually knew how to do a lot that no one had ever given him credit for until he was no longer around to do it.

It had been particularly evident in the care of the surviving two-thirds of the Golden Trio. Well, in the care of HARRY anyway. It was Ron that had dealt with the nightmares both during and after the Second Blood War. Ron that had forgone Mione's simple ranting lecture and sat him down at the mercy of the kitchen elves when he stopped eating, Ron that truly helped Harry through his struggle with sexuality (He was actually better with it then Hermione, something about a gay uncle and the assurance that Harry **didn't** like redheads...), and it was Ron that had 'fixed' Harry's wardrobe. Hermione had been there to, but despite the abandonment and the fighting it was Ron who usually dealt with everything not related to books.

He'd been Harry's first friend, the one that knew more about the wizarding world than either mundane-raised teens of their group could ever hope to, and the one who didn't turn to books for all the answers. They'd taken down a troll, saved Ginny from a horcrux, broken Harry out of his relatives' house, attempted to end SPEW, driven a car to Hogwarts, faced an Ancromantula nest, destroyed horcruxes, survived the Womping Willow, found ball dates, and suffered through years of dorming together. Hermione had died without ever truly knowing Harry's sexuality (after her reaction to his brake-up with Ginny and the hypothetical idea he'd given to her there was no way he could tell her), she'd never woken up in the same bed as him because they'd found he slept better when in someone's arms, walking in on one of them masturbating was definitely not checked off on their list, quidditch wasn't a topic that could be bretched, and the girl would never be able to shop for his clothes without him and find the perfect outfits. In short Hermione Granger was his best friend and she was great and all...

... But she wasn't his mate.

Harry starts regulating his breathing like the redhead used to tell him to as arms would surround him, pressing him into a strong yet soft chest. But without the assurance of someone _there_ it was hard.

Finally calming down Heath sighs and gets out of bed. Crossing the Room of Requirement he enters the bathroom and turns on the shower head, he'd been unable to take a bath since arriving to late to save a six year old boy from drowning.

Due to being sorted into Slytherin, apparently the hat only gives you one free choice, his plans had nosedived. The other houses and teachers weren't going to listen to his warnings and the Slytherins disliked him due to his blood. The Potters hadn't taken him to Grangotts, refusing to so much as entertain the idea that he was one of them. Charlus wasn't that bad actually, apparently he had always wanted an older brother, and even after Heath had been sorted the fourteen-year-old Gryffendor liked to hang around him. But his parents didn't want to sully their name for a Slytherin descendant of some squib at least three generations ago.

But that was fine, he was used to being unwanted and he'd thrown away his foolish wish for a family years ago. Watching Tom had made him realize that he couldn't really do much yet. What good would stopping everything be if the people he was doing it for were never even born? Even if his nightmares had made it their mission to remind him that he would never truly regain what he had once possessed.

So he made a new plan.

He'd lie low, make as little waves as possible without having to throw everything he was away, and when the time came he'd leave Hogwarts. Get a shop in Knockturn where Dumbledore wasn't watching him like a hawk, Tom wasn't making it near impossible to stay away, Headmaster Dippet wasn't off handily trying to get more information out of him, and he could be alone. About four hours into this 'new life' Heath had decided he hated humanity.

And it only got worse the longer he was here.

He wasn't some naive child anymore, if the Dursley's had ever let him truly be one in the first place, and he wasn't born for peace only war. So going from lonesome soldier 'Emerald Terror' to outcast but still constantly surrounded 'Heath Hermes Potter' wasn't proving very effective. The same animosity rose in him towards the students that Hermione had once accused him of having towards the Greens and every time a Professor brushed off the current time's war his hands itched for the gun he felt naked without. It was lucky he hadn't attacked anyone yet, at least in his mind, especially since they kept attacking him.

So he'd leave, get a place at Knockturn, and wait for a time when the world really did need him. And when Magic told him she was ready...

... Then he would do whatever needed to be done regardless of the flimsy morals and beliefs that embodied the wizarding world before the Witch hunts had brought a rather painful reality check upon it.

**- Time skip -**

The soon to be Metus Smaragdus Peverell looks around the small shop a little ways from the entrance into Knockturn from Diagon ally. No idea of the chaos that will be happening in only a few hours back at Hogwarts crossed his mind and, depending on who was asked, he was either ignorantly lucky or simply carrying on "Potter's Law" (Everything that can go wrong will in the worst way possible. However, no matter what happens the Potter will survive and escape, most likely through doing something so dangerous and stupid that no one else would have even thought to try it) that the blood changes he had undergone at Grangotts took twenty-four hours to magically register.

The shop was small, dust covering every available surface, but adequate for his needs and contained an upstairs apartment so that he would never have to leave this place once he had set it up. It was narrow but long with the expansion charms cast on the inside that allowed for a decent amount of space between the four rows of shelving with a larger gap between the two inside rows to make a path directly from the door to the counter. The rows went six selves deep and the selves were five layers high. The floor was wood and the walls made of stone. Also, two dark green curtains were hung to make another wall behind the counter and split the bottom floor into a shop and a lab area.

He had set up the lab as close to the conditions he was used to working in as possible, not wanting to find out if the modifications his hands now automatically made to the potions affected the outcome negatively when used under 'normal' conditions. Due to this it was as if the curtain were actually a portal into a totally different building. The atmosphere of the lab was dark and slightly damp, the floor changing abruptly from wooden planks to dirt. Ingredients stored in jars that were spelled to be airtight were pilled in boxes next to a long five layered shelf. Once they were prepared in exact amounts he would label and store them on it in a system that followed alphabetical order, way prepared, and the amount inside. Completing the length of the wall was a thinner shelve that would hold the incoming, unprepared ingredients once his assembly line was up and running. In the center of the room was a circle of lab benches that someone could stand inside of and simply turn around to be in front of which ever potion they desired (or needed) to work on at that moment. It was funny how Metus seemed to be able to maintain five potions at once far better then he had ever been overseeing only one cauldron at a time. Finally, on the far wall was a door that lead to the upstairs apartment.

He had left Hogwarts, as planed, on October 31st, 1944. While everyone else attended the feast he was at Grangotts seeing if he would be able to legally take a name that wasn't Potter. There had been a few, apparently his blood had stayed true to it's future ties, but Peverell had been the only one that came with both a hefty inheritance that would definitely last until he managed to build a name for himself and no Family Lord that would immediately have to be notified of his presence in their family. Also, he wanted a complete and absolute closure with his old life. That wasn't going to happen by simply becoming Heath Hermes Potter-Black. Plus it was only fitting that he should take the name of the very people who began his curse. He was the Master of Death after all.

When he left he had taken very little of his already small list of things. The three Deathly Hallows and his photographs. the only things he hadn't left behind besides the set of clothing he had on. He had actually gotten into a fight with Healer Clearwater and a few of the House elves about them. Sure they were bloodstained and ripped but they were clean. No he didn't care that they were apparently inappropriate to wear in this society, they were_ his_ clothes and they had already burned the set he had arrived in. Finally he had won with the omission that one of the house elves would be allowed to patch up the rips and try to clean them as much as possible without altering or destroying the outfit.

Checking the contents of the boxes at his feet he levitated them to different parts of the shop needing to do this quickly before he was bedridden with pain in about half an hour. (Changing your blood was _apparently_ a long, excruciating process.) Most of the ingredients went to the right while the vials and other supplies went to the left. A few of them joined the others in the lab to be used for his own brewing before being sold pre-made. He actually hadn't wanted to do potions for a living, not when he was younger during the Blood Wars nor afterwards in that one year gap before the Witch Hunts. At fifteen he had wished to be an auror, more due to others' expectations then anything else, and at eighteen he had discovered a desire to use his knack at healing charms for others. (He'd certainly spent enough time in the Hospital Wing for it after all.) Neither had happened, though in a way both had at the same time. At twenty-three he had been a soldier above ground and a medic under it.

Potions may not have been his strong suit in school due to various influences (Professor Snape, Ron, Draco, ect...) but under the pressure of the Hunts he had drastically improved. Before she had died in a raid of one of the tunnels Madam Pomfrey had actually said that his potions were becoming on par with what Snape used to give her: So that's what he was going to do.

Of course he would have to specialize in healing potions to begin with but he was already studying how to make other high demand types of potions.

Loading the shelves with their wares he wonders when everyone would notice the disappearance of Heath Hermes Potter. Hopefully the search wouldn't last too long, he didn't really want to live under glamours, taking appearance altering potions every two months for the rest of his life because even with the blood change he would probably still look too "Potter-like" and he couldn't always use a hood to hide his features...

Maybe he could.

This w_as _Knockturn Alley after all.


	8. Ritual Magic

**The Emerald Terror**

**Summary: It wasn't supposed to end like this. The light was supposed to win and everyone should have continued on living peacefully. To bad the muggles don't seem to believe in happily ever after... nor coexistence it seems. "Goodbye Magic". Time travel fic.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

**Chapter Seven: Ritual Magic**

_Loading the shelves with their wares he wonders when everyone would notice the disappearance of Heath Hermes Potter. Hopefully the search wouldn't last to long, he didn't really want to live under glamours taking appearance altering potions every two months for the rest of his life because even with the blood change he would probably still look too "Potter-like" and he couldn't always use a hood to hide his features..._

_Maybe he could._

_This was Knockturn Alley after all. _

We all stood in a circle as the ritual hit its peak. Abraxus Malfoy was to my left and Lucien Nott to my right. Eileen Prince stood next to Abraxius followed by Orion Black, who was already engaged to his four year elder cousin Walberga, and Antoine Greengrass. Winky Crocket stood next to her third year successor Neil Lament, though I don't know why he was here since we usually only allowed seventh years and the occasional sixth year to participate. The Moon twins Isabel and Rune, a perfect example of the occasional sixth year rule, stood on either side of their older brother Able. Finally, Ronald McGonagall, Walter Crabbe, and Hunter Goyle complete the loop back to Lucien. Normally Eileen would have stood to my right, being the queen of Slytherin House that is where the hierarchy places her. However, she had chosen instead to stand next to the man her father was preparing her a marriage contract to. The man was obviously blind and uneducated when it came to his only heir and daughter. Everyone else knew that, regardless of the existence of a contract between them, Eileen would sooner marry a muggle and thus be disowned by her family than marry her soon to be intended. This action left her usual spot noticeably open, more than likely the others had talked behind my back and wanted it that way so that if whoever came up was among them they could take their 'rightful place' by my side immediately. They were so excited about discovering who would, apparently, rule over them by my side that I couldn't bring myself to tell them it wouldn't happen. After all, I was obviously going to be a blank.

Dark Lords rule alone.

Abraxus is the first to receive his name, which brought a look of sad disappointment to his face but a look of victory on Elieen's. Not due to order, that was already determined, but because of the blood red elegant cursive that appeared under the image of a sixteen year old French girl. The curly haired blond held remarkable resemblance to a porcelain doll and consequently looked nothing like the tall female Prince who was the embodiment of England's pureblood definition of beauty. Regardless of their contract he would be blood bound to one Gabriel Caterine Abailard. Eileen frowns however when a messy, uneducated, black scrawl appears for her under the image of a man as ugly as she is beautiful. Confusion showing slightly through her mask as to why she would choose to create no deeper a bond with this Tobias Mathias Snape then that of a legal marriage. Not only that but the idea of running the risk her children would inherit that nose was beyond the seventh year potions prodigy. Orion however, is able to sigh in relief at the sight of his intended's image. Her name written out in the traditional gold of the Black's usual magic bond. Antoine Greengrass smirks across the circle at Isabella Astoria Moon (I hadn't known that was her full name) who rolls her blue eyes and sighs in submission to her fate. They would apparently be blood bonded in the future, much to her annoyance. It had actually been entertaining seeing Greengrass try everything short of an official courting to get her attention these past few years. Or rather, it had been fun seeing the different jinxes, curses, and spells she came up with to rebuff his advances. Winky Crocket, unsurprisingly, nods approval to the image of nineteen year old Briar Rabastion Lestrange, Neil Lament smiles at brunette second year Ravenclaw Ofelia Ceil Goldstein, Isabel shakes her head at the confirmation of Antoine and her brother looks skeptically at a thirteen year old oriental named Rin Ichigo Honda but quickly goes to comfort Rune when the ritual seems to pause for a second before moving on to Ronald without showing her anything. Said seventh year looks scandalized at the blue writing that condemned him to be with a ten year old Minerva Matilda Gold who was obviously at least part muggle. Abraxious calms him down by reminding him of the fact her name was in blue, therefore they had blood adopted the girl beforehand and thus made her muggle root irrelevant. Scandalized immediately turns to disappointment at this since he won't be able to know what type of bond they would actually share. Sometimes, not often mind, but sometimes I'm actually glad I'm not a pureblood. They can be exceedingly bazaar at times. Walter looks apologetically at Hunter when Hunter's nine month old sister Margaret Deloris appears to him but Hunter simply nods his head in blessing. Yes, a six year age gap to a half blood gets more of a reaction then an age gap of sixteen years. (Please review previous comment about purebloods.) Hunter smiles at fifteen year old German Elenore Kimanna Abbing, who he had been talking about meeting recently over the summer. Not a very attractive looking girl, way to short and on the chubby side in my opinion, but if just seeing their future blood bond together makes him this happy then good for him. Convenience marriages can sometimes end up worse then those filled with even just a touch of that vile emotion. Speaking of convenience marriages and the emotion which ruins everything, Lucien apparently has to stand Talitha Vega Carrow enough to magically tie the knot with her (pun intended). However it is common knowledge that they hate each other in addition to the fact that it is her younger sister Lyra Mimosa that he is pining after.

Finally it was my turn. Everyone watches as the ritual seems to pause like it did for Rune and I am relieved to think that I was right. Quickly I move to go on and end the ritual before magic can throw some type of curve ball at me with this only for both Abraxas and Lucien to put their hand on my shoulder as an image slowly starts to appear before me.

Everyone is staring, not at me but at the image of a sane, quite Slytherin looking, Heath Hermes Potter.

The image was obviously of him before Healer Clearwater and her apprentice had cleaned and bandaged him up in the hospital wing. His dark brown nearly black hair appearing pitch black as it tumbled down his shoulder tangled and trapped rather comfortably in a high ponytail, bangs hiding his scars the way I had seen them do so in the Forbidden Forrest. His visible right eye is narrowed in a deadly emerald glare at something bellow him as he leans casually against the trunk of the tree that has, willingly or not, allowed him to use one of its branches as a perch. Plump red lips, chapped and abused, are pressed into a small frown reminiscent of a rather cute pout. Heath was wearing a clothing similar to what he had worn before the professors threatened to take points for not wearing uniform (not that he truly did after that since he refused to wear the outer robe). Pant legs of a pair of tight jeans that seemed to be molded to his body were tucked into those mid-calf high boots of his. Wand and gun holster were strapped to their respective thighs and a second wand rested in a holster on his right forearm, the end of the bar code tattoo just barely covered by the leather carrier. The snake inked onto his left arm was also mostly visible, the head concealed with the pair of fingerless gloves that the professors grudgingly let him wear to hide that very same tattoo. The t-shirt he is wearing obviously styled to form to his body shape in much the same way his pants do and its sleeves end rather close to his shoulders (Think a baby-doll cut). Over it is a sleeveless vest the same material as his pants and ammunition clips for his gun rest in belts that are slung around him, backpack innocently riding on his back. The way he holds himself, the blank borderline bored expression on his face, and the look in his eye are so different that even if we had seen Heath wearing clothing like this when he arrived there was just no way that it was actually him. And it wasn't.

My minds shuts down immediately as it tries to come to terms with what it is being shown. Refusing to process the very idea that no only would I get married to someone but through a soul bond. And if the silver border around the white letters scrawled there were true I was definitely missing some pretty valuable memories of my life.

Apparently I was already married to one Lord Hadrian James Potter-Black

Everyone is shocked and it shows as we end the ritual, the images disappearing one by one starting with my... husband... and going in reverse. The entire thing ended about half an hour after midnight. Most of us go off to our dorms to make a plan using this new information, sending me looks that tell me I haven't lost their support over this. Good. I would hate for all of my planning to have to go to waste because of this... new obstacle. Lucien and Abraxius stay down with me though, looking worried but calculating.

"We'll have to track down our Potter." Lucien says after the common room has emptied of all but us, going to sit in one of the armchairs by a fireplace. "Perhaps he can shed some light on this." Abraxious and I join him in the chairs and I hold my face in my hands.

"How could I be bonded already without knowing it?" I ask, suddenly tired. The two pure bloods look significantly uncomfortable with my question.

"There are two ways for this that I know of. First, it's not really unheard of for a family to marry their child to another when they are young and the parents believe there is danger. The practice is usually only used during war and while the Potters aren't exactly light they aren't historically the type to do such a thing even when pushed. Also, it's usually to someone," Abraxious pauses here, trying to think of a way to continue _without_ insulting me, "older and of the same rank as them." Well, he's said worse in the past, "The idea is that should the parent die the child would become the ward of either their spouse who has already reached majority or their spouse's family. However, growing up with the child in that situation the two tend to become either more like parent and child or like siblings. So when it comes time to consummate the marriage things get decidedly... uncomfortable. The second way is through a previous marriage agreement. I advise you take it up with Gringotts because that's most likely what it is. Though why this boy and not say, Gryffendor's Potter, I don't know. Usually a prearranged contract has a single loop hole that allows for either party to simply scoff at it and pass it down the line."

"Would explain why the Potters always marry so young though. Of course, most pure bloods have a contract by the end of their schooling, but for the Potters who are decidedly against such arrangements to always be at least engaged by their graduation... that does seem like they're avoiding something." Lucien cuts inn an amused smirk playing on his lips. "I'd say somewhere along the line a Potter promised their child to one of your blood before finding someone they considered better and used the loop to get out of it." He laughs and I can't help but smile. Lucien had a twisted sense of humor when it came to things like this.

Well, it looks like I'll have to use the next Hogsmead weekend to visit Gringotts. And in the meantime trap Heath Potter so that he can tell me who this "Hadrian" is, I get the feeling Charlus Potter won't know.


	9. Forgetting Dirty Magic

**The Emerald Terror**

**Summery:It wasn't supposed to end like this. The light was supposed to win and everyone should have continued on living peacefully. To bad the muggles don't seem to believe in happily ever after... nor coexistence it seems. "Goodbye Magic". Time travel fic.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

**Chapter Eight: Forgetting Dirty Magic**

_Well, it looks like I'll have to use the next Hogsmead weekend to visit Grangotts. And in the mean time trap Heath Potter so that he can tell me who this "Hadrian" is, I get the felling Charlus Potter won't know._

Metus looks at the front page of the Prophet, closed his eyes, then opened them again expecting the front page article to change. For obvious reasons, it didn't.

It had only taken them a week to realize that he wasn't there.

The man sitting on top of the counter in his shop, Peverell's Potions (Not very creative but it did the trick), appeared to look nothing like the thirteen year old (would the Prophet _ever_ get his age right?) girl (and now they couldn't even have the decency to get his gender correct, wonderful!) in the photo printed there. He had kept his green eyes, as looking in the mirror and seeing the brown ones he had glamoured onto himself had been unnerving, but chose to once again start hiding them behind a large pair of frames. He missed his contacts already, it was annoying having to push them back up his nose all the time while attempting to complete a potion. He had cut his hair since now that he actually had to take care of it the length was annoying and he had assumed that it would make brewing easier in much the same way that his contacts had.

It hadn't.

Sure, with the blood change his hair had darkened to truly being black and the weight of it had worked well to hide any other changes, but without that weight it was easy to see that his 'Potter head" had only gotten worse. Not only that but he hadn't had a haircut since a week before Bill's wedding to Fluer when Mrs. Weasley had all but spelled him to one of her kitchen chairs and attacked it herself. That was around seven years of him getting used to and having that hair. His wrist felt weird without the two or three elastics that he usually kept there, he kept moving to take down or otherwise style his hair, his movement ticks were well thrown out of whack, he found that instead of hiding the parts he didn't like about his face the length now highlighted them, and the glamoured blonde color just didn't go well with it for some reason. So it was no wonder that he lasted only a day before he was in the lab brewing a potion that would regrow his hair back to it's usual waist length.

The bell rings and he looks up to see a man whose face was covered by the hood of his cloak. Though the sneer on his face at the sight of Metus hung in the air between them.

"Welcome to Peverell's Potions, my name is Metus Peverell, how may I help you?" Metus asks, setting aside the article he had been torn between being furious or amused with. He can almost physically feel the guy decide he was, to be with the time period, mudblood scum. However, even now it almost physically hurt to keep from adding 'his insanity ticks' (as one of the Slytherin's had called them) to his greeting. They, in combination with his obviously mundane clothes, would probably see to him being hexed.

"I'm not here for any of your filthy potions _mudblood_." The man snarls, approaching the seemingly 5'9" counter sitter. "What gives you the right to even _be_ here let alone to use such a name!" Ah, so he was ticked that a seemingly obtuse mundane born had claimed to be a Peverell.

"The fact that I own this shop and that Peverell is my family name." Metus says, flicking his wrist slightly to draw his wand from the holster hidden under his jacket.

"Little mudblood scum, I'll tea-" He didn't get to finish because as soon as he had leveled his wand at Metus, said man has tossed him out using a pretty nasty knee-reversal hex followed almost instantly by a bombarda and warded the door against the re-entrance of man screaming murder at him on the street.

"What's the commotion Lord Prince?" A suspiciously Malfoy sounding voice cuts off the raging man trying to get through the wards and one newly named Lord Prince (_this_ was Snape's grandfather? Metus suddenly felt very disappointed about the man's inability to be like his daughter and future grandson.) turns to a man the spitting image of Draco's father.

"That little shit dared to not only disgrace the Peverell name but disrespected and attacked me without warning!" He really wasn't like Snape, or Eileen for that matter, there's no way the dungeon bat would whine like a spoiled child.

"You put your wand in my face, what was I supposed to do? Sit there quietly and allow you to _Avada_ me? Besides, if anyone is a disgrace to their bloodline it would be you _Mr._ Prince." Metus really couldn't help himself, he was fed up and done with this shit. "Now if you'll excuse me Lord Malfoy, I have a potion that needs to be checked on."

"You mudblood filth! Don't you da-" Metus spun back around, walked right through the wards Lord Prince had been struggling with so much (no wonder Eileen had married a muggle! The Prince line was close to squibbing out of existence! Eileen only got her place as Queen due to her beauty, potion expertise, and being of the oldest, most inter-bred, pureblood house there. Now that Metus thought about it didn't Eileen say something about her parents having been siblings?) and held the now stammering lord at wand point.

"Call me a mudblood one more time you interbred filth! See how long you bloody last!" Lord Malfoy clears his throat, wand drawn.

"I'm afraid I can't let you do any further harm to my friend here, if you would kindly let him go Mr..."

"Metus Smaragdus Peverell." Not moving to back down so much as a centimeter.

"Mr. Peverell, If you would please lower your wand. You have my word th-"

"What power do _your_ words have over _his_ actions?!" The true blond looks a little taken aback by that, "And I'm not some savage animal." He starts laughing, dignifiedly mind you.

"You're an interesting one Mr. Peverell. How's this, if he goes to attack you again I'll nullify the marriage contract between my family and his." The Malfoy Lord knew that his son wouldn't be very happy with this agreement should he find out about it but really Eileen Prince was little more then a squib anyway. His wife had a friend or two back in France with daughters much more powerful and they were Malfoys. Eileen's only real use was the Wizingamont votes that her husband would hold once her parents died. After all, a lady of her station shouldn't spend any more time around a cauldron then necessary for her classes. Metus looked between the to Lords skeptically then nodded.

"I would like a wizard's oath on that Lord Malfoy, I'm no fool after all." His captive regains his voice and starts insulting him again, though it was clear that he held Malfoy's threat seriously and wouldn't attack the man who still held him at wand point.

"I, Lord Perseus Corvus Malfoy of the Noble house of Malfoy, swear upon my magic that should Lord Polaris Salazar Prince of the Ancient and Noble house of Prince attack Mr. Metus Smaragdus Peverell once again I shall end the marriage agreement between our houses of one Eileen Victoria Prince and my son Abraxius Perseus Malfoy. So mote it be." With that mouthful out of the way Lord Malfoy is surrounded by a golden thread of light that comes out of his wand before it disappears.

"Now I do believe that we have business to attend to, Lord Prince?" With a nod to Metus he turns around and starts walking away, the Prince Lord following him as soon as Metus lowers his wand.

"I'll get you back for this Mudblood, just you wait." He hisses but is met with disappointment when the man does nothing but retreat back into his shop in response to the threat.

Eileen could do better then the heir to a Noble house anyway. After all, Abraxious Malfoy was bellow her station.

**- Scene change -**

Tom Marvello Riddle sits there staring numbly at the piece of parchment in front of him. A marriage agreement from centuries ago between one Marcus Salazar Gaunt and one Arturious Godric Peverell promising the Peverell's three year old daughter Judith to the Gaunt's seven year old heir should she not find and be at least engaged to someone else by her seventeenth birthday.

It was a well written piece of work. Lucien was amazed at the air tightness of the piece. Most contracts could be over written by a new one to a different bloodline after going unfulfilled for so many generations but this one clearly stated that it would be in affect until the marriage of either the named individuals or a pair of their descendents united the two lines. Making it impossible for Judith Ireene Potter nee Peverell or any one of her descendents to promise their children to anyone else through a contract. It bound both female and male children, why Tom now found himself with a husband not a wife, and should either line have only one child then the only loop-hole in the contract would narrow to allowing that child to either marrying the person they are contracted to or someone without any magical parents (Why James married Lilly Evans, though he did love her anyway).

And thus the contract came back into play on December 21st of last year when Tom had turned seventeen, marrying him off to the only of age Potter not promised to anyone else.

Lord Hadrian James Potter-Black.

"Is it possible to ignore this and live out my life without my husband? Of course, I wouldn't be able to get married." He asks and the goblin smirks as both Lucien and Abraxius look at him scandalized. To be married to someone you had never met and then refuse to so much as attempt to contact them about the bond was completely against what pure blood society (or any society really) thought proper! Not to mention the fact that apparently their lord and this Hadrian had a soul bond together!

"As no bonding licence was ever officially signed and brought here to Gringotts I could of course forget to inform the Potter family that the contract has been completed. Of course the records are already shelved at the ministry, but it's their own fault for not checking over them every so often No?" The goblin complies amused. At Gringotts how you treated the people dealing with your affairs truly did matter, to bad not many wizards actually realized that until something like this occurred.

"Thank you Reginald. May your enemies bow powerless at your feet. We should probably be getting back to school now before we are missed."

The three students stood up and Lucien bowed to the goblin as Abraxius wished for it's gold to always flow before they took their leave.

Time passed them gradually. Albus Dumbledore gained power after his defeat of the current Dark Lord. Tom Riddle went out and made more horcruxes before beginning to build a strong power base after his attempts to enter the political arena were all sufficiently blocked by the Transfiguration Professor turned Headmaster. Abraxius ended up marrying Gabriel Caterine Abailard, much to his dismay, after Eileen's father attacked some mudblood in Knockturn Alley triggering a wizard's oath his father had made. Eileen disappeared soon after and the only thing heard of her since then was that her father had disowned her for some reason or another (no one truly knew why, they just liked to pretend they did, thus there were around thirty different stories about it and only one of them actually even close to being correct). Rune Garnett Moon died at the age of eighteen, murdered by her betrothed Alphard Black the night before their bonding.

As the years went by Tom Riddle and all those who had been there that night in 1944 forgot about the marriage between him and the unknown Potter. In fact, very few even remembered Heath Hermes Potter at all after a few years. Dorea Potter nee Black bore Charlus Potter an heir despite her (older) age, thus making Harry's birth in the future a possibility, the family still none the wiser to the fact that their contract to the Gaunts had been fulfilled. Charlus' younger sister died at the age of sixteen when a family member of someone her father put in Azkaban decided to get revenge.

The next generation started at Hogwarts. Lucius Abraxius Malfoy, Severus Tobias Snape, the Black sisters, and Regulus Arcturus Black, among others, being sorted into Slytherin. Amelia Susan Bones and her Brother Edgar Lewis, Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Nathan Raginald Tate, and Ronald Samual Yaxley became Hufflepuffs. Pandora Garnett Lestrange, Xenophilius Aron Lovegood, Edward Timothy Tonks, and Cassandra Irma Malfoy went into Ravenclaw. Twins Gideon Charles and Fabion Orion Prewett followed their older sister Molly Lucidea into Gryffendor along with Frank Neville Longbottom, Sirius Orion Black, Alice Katilynn Burke, Remus John Lupin, Johnathan Tobias Smith, Peter Judus Petigrew, James Charlus Potter, and Henrietta Penelope Clearwater. Life moved on undisturbed, history seeming determined not to be derailed from it's set path.

And then sixteen year old Severus Tobias Snape ran into a little shop just on the corner of Diagon and Knockturn Alley as he attempted to hide from Marauders James Charlus Potter and Sirius Orion Black.


End file.
